


Familiar Sky

by NeverEverFaceTheDark



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/F, I like the idea of official trikru parties starting like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5785513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverEverFaceTheDark/pseuds/NeverEverFaceTheDark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Trikru celebrate the end of the war. Lexa is reminded of what is lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familiar Sky

The clapping started. The sound rolled slowly towards Lexa, sat upon her throne, ornate and hewn from stone. The Trikru Elders on either side of her, triumphant. The rhythm was a quiet one.

The dancer was a girl and she was young. (Not so much younger than Lexa herself).

Her steps were small, she looked to the ground. It was as though she drew a pattern with her feet and the clapping swelled, became more intricate. Bare soles to the earth she stepped and stepped, arms loose. Her head only rose when the first mournful words were sung. Her gaze was endless and she had stilled. The lost remembered.

Then the crowd hummed and she swayed, slid fluidly to the side and kept slipping along to the sound of the constant drum of hands, a low melody thrumming in throats and the single clear voice threading with them carefully. Every fourth and sixth beats all rhythms came together and the dancer shook, stamped her foot.

The tempo built and the dancer twisted, moved with more and more force, face solemn. It spoke of battle. But it was not war that streaked from her eyes. Her paint was green.

Lexa sat completely still. As the beat quickened, as the dancing grew more frenzied.

Finally, a thunderous coming together of hands, sweeping the energy along into a storm. The song burst into many voices. The girl jumped with the cresting sound and grinned, teeth a brilliant white crescent.

Then, her every movement was true joy. She spun and kicked with skill and passion. She shook her head wildly and then stepped forward and pulled a woman much older from the surrounding crowd. And they danced. The crowd was swaying, their boots stomping the dirt.

The dancer pulled more people into the centre, flitted around in complex patterns. Spinning in people's arms, leaping and rolling circling and playing. Until all people sung and clapped and danced and there was only celebration.

Lexa sat still, still, still as the smile on her lips hurt. The dancer approached, skipping up the stairs and offered her hand. Heda stood, for the dance was in her honour. For the war was over, their people were returned. Their losses mourned, their battle known, and both now drowned in the victory of visceral life. The dance now in healing of her people.

Heda bowed forward and kissed the dancer's hand. The girl smiled. Lexa saw that her eyes were a brilliant blue. The familiar sky caught alive in two great, glistening pools.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism welcome.


End file.
